He makes the colours of the creative ability come to life with each brushstroke. The world because it may be, where the sky reddens in lavender tints, streams stream with fluid gold, and the stars themselves whisper privileged insights onto the canvas, is what the dream painter sees rather than the world because it is.
He hears the tunes of potential instead of the murmur of reality within the quiet of his studio, which is filled with unfinished ventures. Impulses, his fingers, spread with the ruins of past dreams, combine colours never seen some time recently. He doesn't depict what is anticipated of him or what is required of him. He delineates the scenes of crave, the unrecorded cradlesongs, and the forgotten trusts that wait within the liminal regions between thought and rest.
A few claim that he may be a conjurer who employments light and shade to make spells. Others think he's stuck in a world no one else can enter, misplaced in his possess fancies. In any case, he is mindful that dreams cannot be contained. They are aiming to breathe, to require shape, and to burst out.
He goes on, utilizing his brush as a key to open the entryways between the universes of ponder and alertness. One day, somebody might see his works of art and see more than basically a painting—they might see a reflection of their possess most significant desires. And perhaps they will moreover accept in the impossible at that point.